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Chapter 7 · Chapter 9 · Chapter 10 · Chapter 11 · Chapter 12 · Chapter 13 · Chapter 14 · Chapter 15 · Chapter 16 ·
Chapter 17 · Chapter 18 · Chapter 19 · Chapter 20 · Chapter 21 · Chapter 22 · Chapter 23 · Chapter24 · Chapter25 · Chapter 26 ·
Chapter 27 · Chapter 28 · Chapter 29


Deformity of the heart I call the worst deformity of all; for what is form,
or what is face, but the soul's index, or its case?

July 10, 1870

My name is Dionisio Ruiz Fuerte and I am an lifelong outcast. My earliest memories are of taunts, rebukes; fast, hard fists and a long hellish childhood. Being a dwarf is a sign of disfavor among the Nahua who were my people. Before the days of the White Christ I would have been exposed at birth or else saved for a special ceremonial sacrifice. My imperfection caused my parents to look on me with disgust. They beat me constantly, one such beating resulted in a broken back which healed crookedly, giving me a crookback.

The only person whom I had any pleasant contact with was the village priest Padre Juan Carlos. He taught me to read and write and urged me to leave the village at my earliest opportunity.

I left at the age of ten and wandered up and down the Gulf coast for a while before attaching myself to a circus. Despite my crookback I became a acrobatic dwarf known as El Pulgo, The Flea. During a tour throughout in Texas we stopped at a town called Yellowdog. As I sat in a local barber shop getting a haircut, a drunken cowboy and his cronies took offense to my presence. They drove the barber away and dumped a bottle of tonic water on my head. One of the three cowboys lit the fluid on my face.

Blinding white hot pain made everything a blur. My head a lit torch, I ran screaming out of the barbershop. I tripped and fell headfirst into a horse trough, extinguishing the flame.

Out of friendship and duty my fellow circus performers nursed me through the agony of the burn. The fire had permanently seared away all the hair on my head, leaving my face and skull a mass of scaly red scar tissue. Never pretty, I am now a horror to look upon.

The circus owner wanted to showcase me as the Flying Red Lizard.

Despite my gratitude to them I could not bear that indignity and so left to wander in the American Wilderness. I was fifteen.

For two years I wandered through Texas and the Santa Fe territory on a stolen horse. Eventually I was captured by a band of Comanche and made a slave of theirs, valuable because of my oddity.

My sojourn with the Comanche lasted eight years. They were happy times as learned their ways and gained some measure of respect among them. They honored me by making me a fire-carrier and inviting me to go on a horse stealing raid against the Kiowa.

It was on this horse stealing expedition that my friends were killed by the Apache. Two of them were left alive and tortured to death. I remember their names. Five Coup Man and Stolen Thunder, they died bravely and not too quickly, proving the strong medicine of the Comanche and of themselves.

The Apache had decided to save me for a special ceremony in which their entire village could torture me. That was until they met El Jefe, El Head, the Head Man of the Plains. They were the first to encounter this being who would become a legend of horror, fear and awe in the West. The Apache gave me to El Head, hoping that he would in turn give to them some of his great medicine.

When I first saw the decapitated body strapped to a horse, I was not too frightened for I had seen worse in my day. However when I saw the decapitated head grip the reins in its mouth and it's eyes move animatedly, all of the horrors of my life suddenly rushed in on me in one fell swoop. Shock drove me into unconsciousness. El Head used his mental power to probe and read my memories like shuffling through pages in a book. Yet El Head was able to absorb and comprehend my experiences just as rapidly as he observed them.

As El Head read my memories, I could sense portions of his story. I sensed the emotions of betrayal, of hideous torture, of a burning rage and a thirst for vengeance on his enemies and his enemies friends. I sensed that I had discovered a kindred spirit.

El Head has been called many things, ruthless, vicious, a blood thirsty villain, a raging madman and he was all of these things. Yet he also honorable, friendly and kind in his own fashion. Accepting his silent offer of friendship, I joined his pact of vengeance, becoming his constant companion, his segundo and emissary. He never called me anything but Dio and he never allowed me to be harassed, ridiculed or called names in his presence

Home · Ryan's Psalm
Chapter 1 · Chapter 2 · Chapter 3· Chapter 5· Chapter 6·
Chapter 7· Chapter 9· Chapter 10 · Chapter 11 · Chapter 12 · Chapter 13· Chapter 14· Chapter 15· Chapter 16·
Chapter 17· Chapter 18· Chapter 19· Chapter 20 · Chapter 21 · Chapter 22 · Chapter 23· Chapter24· Chapter25· Chapter 26·
Chapter 27· Chapter 28· Chapter 29


All the material on these web pages or any other material relating to the character of El Head are copyrighted by Dennis E. Power
1996-2009 Dennis E. Power. All Rights Reserved.
Concept of El Head 1996 created by David Rush. All Rights Reserved.
All of the persons, places and items on the El Head pages are imaginary. Any resemblance to any existing place or product is done only for purposes of fictional verisimilitude and should not be taken as an endorsement of said product or place. Any resemblance to any person living, dead or somewhere in between is merely coincidental,
and unfortunate.
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